


Be the Bonnie to my Clyde

by j_gabrielle



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU love story where James picks up a young bloodied Q from a back alley way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be the Bonnie to my Clyde

**(Day 49)**

James thinks he must have known his name once. He remembers it being whispered like a sacred secret in the darkness that cloaked them well. But fuck… He cannot remember it now.

He brushes away the stray hair from his face, smiling softly. He was always such a deep sleeper, remembering how he’d always joked that he could sleep through the apocalypse if he so wanted to.

The bright afternoon sun lit everything aflame. Outlining everything like it was God’s special light, bringing everything into sharper relief. The gold necklace glints at him from around his neck. James takes a swig from his bottle of whiskey, unable to stop the tear that slid down his cheek as he starts the car. He is parked on the edge of a cliff.

In the distance, the sound of wailing sirens approaches.

**(Day 3)**

The kid stares at him sullenly, hands bound together in front of him because James doesn’t trust the kid and he knows it. Bruises and cuts litter the landscape that is his skin; a mottled map of horrors. For an instant, James thinks about tracing them with his lips, the vision of the boy writhing on dirty sheets come unbidden into his mind.

He takes a drag on his cigarette, wincing when the movement pulls on the deep scratch that the bastard left on his cheek. He can tell that the momentary lapse of control did not go unnoticed. Frowning, he presses down on the accelerator, wishing somehow he had the heart to leave the kid to rot in a pool of his own blood and shit, wishing that he did not remember the spark he saw in blue-green eyes from across the bar.

**(Day 1)**

The plan was to stay for a night, leaving at first light. There was never any need to draw any attention to him in this town that was just like every other town he’d passed before.

“Fuck kid! C’mon!” He growled, cursing internally at himself and at whatever fucked up version of a white knight that Fate was having him play. He keeps pulling the boy to his feet, half-dragging him along to the end of the alley. “ _C’mon_!”

From the way he was holding himself, James reckons that the kid has got a couple of bruised ribs and a sprained ankle. Cursing again, he looked around, pushing the boy behind a dumpster. “Stay here and don’t move, don’t make a sound. Do you understand?” He instructs, shrugging off his jacket, draping it over the boy’s trembling shoulder. “Hey,” He says again, low. The boy looks up at him, half his face covered in blood not his own. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me.”

The boy nods once, and James is running back to where the bodies were.

**(Day 7)**

James feels like he should be doing something. The boy, Q, said that he could leave him at a bus station or something. He contemplates it.

Q is wary of him, and the feeling is mutual. He does thank him though, for the clean-up job he did back in that alleyway. James doesn’t say anything to that, doesn’t want to be reminded of old ghosts that need no resurrecting.

**(Day 19)**

The next time they kiss, they’re drunk to their gills and higher than a kite, lying side by side on the bed. Somehow the kid managed to hustle some pot from the college kids a couple of rooms down, turning up his puppy charms at the old lady in the liquor store who hands him three bottles of moonshine with a wink.

James does not need to know what deal the kid made with the devil for his unholy powers.

Everything smells like weed and alcohol. The bottom of Q’s shirt is racked up, showing too much of his abdomen, stirring up some memories and desires in James best left forgotten. The older man frowns, reaching over to pull it back down, only to find himself stroking absently at soft, soft skin.

He moves his hand, running lines across the contours of his body, mapping and committing it to memory in case this would be the only time he would be allowed to do this. He lifts both his hands to cup Q’s cheeks. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me, kid. Because if you don’t,” he swallows, leaning down slowly, “If you don’t, then I don’t think I can stop myself.”

Q’s grip on his wrist is strong and firm. He smiles, a lazy thing as he pulls him down until their lips touched. “Then don’t stop.”

**(Day 27)**

They fuck on every single surface in their motel room, riding on the high of their latest raid.

(A large house in the middle of fucking suburbia with trimmed hedges and chandeliers in the foyer. There were pictures all over and the jewels were in the dresser drawer, the money in the pocket of the coat second from the right. The owners were gone for the night.)

James makes him wear the thick string of pearls around his neck, finding an irrational pleasure in pulling it taught and tight, before releasing and brushing his fingers over reddened skin.

“You kinky, kinky bastard.” Q grins, licking dirty kisses into his mouth. James pulls him down, pushing until his cock was sheathed fully in him where it rightfully belongs. He’s still gaping wide and wet from earlier. He swallows the sounds his boy makes, kissing him until they are gasping for air. “What ever will you think of next?” Q laughs, a bright sound in the shadows of their room. “Are you going to ask me to wear lingerie then? Stripping me out and then fucking me over the hood of your car? Wearing nothing but those sky high kitten heels we saw the other day?” Q rocks himself, rotating his hips, clamping down on James like a vice.

His breath hitched, closing his eyes as a shudder breaks out while thinking about spreading him out, painting him with blood and come, sharp points digging into his ass while he fucks him into the sun warmed metal.

“Shit! You’re getting harder…” Q cries out in surprise, arching as his cock swells in him. James reaches up and _pulls_ on rock hard nipples, grinning when his boy comes dry, cock twitching with nothing coming out.

He sits up, pulling pliant body close, dropping kisses on wherever he could reach, tasting salt and bitter.

“For an old man, you’re pretty spry.” Q mumbles tiredly, smiling as he snuggles into James’ embrace.

“Shut up.”

**(Day 37)**

They’ve gone too far this time. The silence in the car was tense and heavy. James can’t even bring himself to look at him, and he knows that behind those hideous sunglasses, Q’s eyes are rimmed red from crying. All James wants to do is to hold him and kiss him once more, but every time he even looks at him, all he can see is her smiling face.

**(Day 2)**

He only dumps the bodies when he has crossed two state borders. Throwing them into what is going to be the foundations of a new shopping mall. With luck those fuckers will remain missing for the next 50 years or so. He wipes down the butter knife stained with blood, throwing it in. He’ll burn the gloves when he is in the next county. The boy is curled up into himself in the front seat, eyes wide and watching him.

He ignores looking too deeply into what those almond shaped eyes are saying.

**(Day 13)**

The first time they kiss, James pulls away first. There is flush high on Q’s cheeks, wildness in his eyes.

“Q, stop this.” He says gently, grabbing and holding on to thin breakable wrists. “You need to stop this.” He injects a tone of authority into his voice when Q begins to struggle.

James pushes Q back onto the bed; pinning him down with his hands and hips. He lets the boy struggle against him, little choked out sobs tumbling off his lips. He doesn’t let up until he sees the thin rivers of tears flowing into the bedspread.

Later in the shelter of a thin blanket over their heads, shielding them from the bright neon lights and the cool air-conditioned air, Q confesses. He talks and talks, telling the story about how a boy had to become a man the moment his father stepped into his room. How he ran, only to be caught and pulled into a deeper abyss. How on the night the men who owned him were supposed to take him out for a last run, he saw a stranger with winter blue eyes staring back at him from across the room.

James wrapped his arms around too thin waist, breathing in the scent of soap and smoke, wishing he knew how to turn back time for the both of them.

**(Day 33)**

“I marry you.”

**(Day 15)**

Q’s bruises have faded to almost nothing. When James came back to their motel room, the boy is dancing to Prince’s Kiss playing on the radio dressed in nothing but a pair of tight white cotton briefs, and a loose tank top. James’ throat did _not_ run dry at the sight of creamy skin unmarked.

He is smiling, and it sends a jolt through James. Q looked younger than he did this morning when he left; leaving James with the question of just exactly how old was he.

“How long have you been standing there?” Q asked, eyes wide, cheeks pink with embarrassment, body strung taught. He has stopped the music and the silence is only punctuated by the sound of the cars on the freeway.

“Not long.” James says, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the foot of his bed. “You don’t have… You don’t have to stop. Dancing, I mean. You looked like you were having a lot of fun. You don’t have to stop because of me.” James closed his eyes, exhaling. He rubbed a hand on his nape, cursing his inability to string two proper words together whenever it came to this kid.

“You like watching me dance?” James looks up to see that Q was standing right in front of him, eyes dark. And James recognized the same emotion reflected in his own eyes; desire. “I dance better with a partner.” Q smiles coy and shy, holding a hand out to him to take.

James lets himself be pulled into a slow dance. There is no music and the sound of the freeway is loud even with the closed door and windows. But he feels the heartbeat echoing his, feeling strangely enough, at peace.

**(Day 45)**

James can taste the apology, the regret, the guilt. Q moves desperately against him, as if thinking at any moment, he would be casted out on his own again.

It was his fault in the first place, for bringing him into that situation without telling him about it in the first place.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please forgive me.”

He kisses away Q’s tears, wanting to see joy in his eyes again instead of this constant sorrow. James runs his finger on the necklace resting against warm skin.

**(Day 48)**

They ran into the lawmen in some back road in the bumfuck of Nowheresville that they weren’t supposed to be at in the first place.

It was close one, and they got out unscathed except for a few bullet holes in the side of the car. There were no streetlights to guide them, only the moonlight. It was just past 9 in the evening. James had had contacted one of his old friends, begging for a favour be repaid. And so, they were heading to the ports half a day’s drive from where they were.

“That was a close one huh?” James laughs, still pushing 90 miles an hour. They lost the cops about an hour ago.

“Yeah. It was.” Q grins, teeth sharp in the dimlight. James drives on.

**(Day 33)**

Q is quiet. And James isn’t really used to that. He’d been silent all afternoon while they lay in bed. “What’s wrong?” He asks, when the silence got too heavy and Q’s wounded puppy looks were being kicked up a notched every minute or so.

He sees Q bite down on his lip. “It’s just that… Did you know in the olden days, when there was a war, if two people came together and tied a string around each other’s wrist and said ‘I marry you’ to the other person, they would’ve been married no questions asked?”

James blinked. Of anything he’d expected, he did not expect that.

“I mean…” Q stutters. “It’s not like I want to be married or anything, I just thought that it was a pretty cool idea, you know?” He yawned, clearly faked. “Hah. Sleepy. I’m gonna take a nap okay? Wake me up for dinner.” James has to restrain himself from laughing. He leans over and presses a kiss to the boy’s nape. It is just moments like this that remind him of how young his lover really was.

Sliding out of bed, he goes through their stash. They have enough here for a good life somewhere. A nice house by a lake. Seclusion that only money could buy. He had enough from his previous life that Q would never have to work for anything ever again. He could protect him, provide for him, take care of him…

A life. With Q. James catches his reflection in the mirror in the bathroom. A life with Q and only Q. Yeah. He could do that.

He digs through his pack for a small velvet box with his parent’s wedding rings. He knows he can’t wear either one, and it would probably be a little loose on Q’s fingers. James rummages through the stash before he finds what he wants.

James strings the rings through a strand of gold necklace. Leaning back, he smiles. This was better than a silly string.

**(Day 11)**

“What are you doing in these towns anyways?” Q asks, sticking his hand out the window and surfs the wind currents with his hand. His bare feet propped high on the dashboard, toes curling in the sunlight. Somehow, Q has bright electric pink painted on his toenails. James doesn’t know which one bothers him more; the lack of respect the kid has for his car, or the way he manages to charm everyone he meets.

There are times he marvels at the ease Q switches from one personality to the other and others when he just wants to shake him until he stopped, until all that was left was _him_ and not something he pretends he is.

“I’m visiting some people.” James says. Q doesn’t say a word, and James thinks he is off the hook when the boy asks again.

“Who? Are they important?” James looks over to see Q pushing back his fringe with the sunglasses that makes James frown. “Can I meet them?”

He doesn’t answer until he pulls over the side of a road, killing the engine. He takes deep measured breaths, calming down the nerves he is surprised to discover he had. He needs to explain this. “I. Before all this, I was a hitman.” He pauses, looking over at Q. “Do you understand? I was a murderer.”

Q blinks, “So you’re not anymore?”

“No.” James says, eyes narrowing. “That was before. Now I am no longer a murdere—Mmprgh.”

Q presses a finger on his lips, coming closer until each was staring at the other cross-eyed. Satisfied, he leans back into his seat, wiping his finger on the denim of James’ jeans. “Well that’s okay then.” He shrugs.

“Okay?”

“You said you ‘were’ a murderer and now you’re not. So what does that have to do with all those people you’re visiting?”

James is torn between feeling a rush of irrational relief and the outrage that his previous occupation had just been carelessly disregarded. “They’re… Just some people.” He says, starting the engine. Q stares at him, and James sighs. “They’re the families of the people I’ve killed. I’m going around apologising.”

There is a pause, before Q asks quietly, “Take me with you the next time. You shouldn’t have to do these kinds of shit alone, old man. That’s just some real sad stuff right there.”

James turns to admonish the boy, only to find him smiling at him, teasing and something more. He has to turn away before he runs them into a ditch somewhere.

**(Day 48)**

“James.” Q whispers against the skin of his neck. “James, I love you.” A tear slips down his nose, “I never… Never told you enough. I love you so much…”

James brushes away the tear. “Don’t say that, kid.” He laughs, an empty sound. “Aren’t you the one who always called me old, huh? If I’m old, then you should outlive me ok? You have to stick around to take care of me.”

He takes one of Q’s blood drenched hand, holding tight. “You can’t leave. Not yet. We still have forever to go.” He buries his face in his hair, hiding the wetness of his cheeks. “You wormed your way into my life and now I can’t see anything without you in it…”

“You. You made me happy.” Q says, breathing begin to shallow. “I don’t have any regrets, James. So, please… kiss me.”

James pulls away, leaning down to whisper, “I love you. Please wait for me.” And kisses his husband for one last time.

**(Day 35)**

Her name was Vesper. Vesper Lynd, and he’d killed her lover. She was beautiful, poised and perfect just like how he’d remembered her to be.

“James.” She breathes, eyes on him, before turning to look at Q. “I think you’d better come in.”

She ushers them into her home, sitting them in the kitchen. “Who’s your friend?” Q frowns, clearly sensing something underneath the veneer of civility. His eyes track her as she moves to the kitchen island.

“This is Q.” Is all James says, deepening Q’s frown further. James wants to comfort him, but refrains himself, focusing instead on Vesper who’d placed two cups of tea in front of them. “Thank you.”

“Will you tell me why you’re here, now?” Vesper asks.

James clears his throat. “I came to apologise.” He holds the cup between his hands. “For Chicago.”

Vesper stares at him, before she unexpectedly sighed. “James, honey. You don’t have to.” She covers his hand with hers. “It was my fault.” She smiles sadly. “I was the one who had the affair not you.”

“But still…”

She looked at Q, tilting her head quizzically. “Is he yours then?” Q bristled, standing up and going to stand by the sink.

James did not answer, choosing to take a deep drink from his cup. “Is that _really_ all you came for?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Why?”

Q takes a deep breath, gearing himself to be polite when he spots the blinking red dot under the kitchen island. “She’s called the cops!” He screeched.

Vesper pales, “Wait! I can explain!” She gets up, backing away. “I thought you were here to kill me…”

“Q! No!” James’ voice came too late. Q sinks a knife from her kitchen counter into her back, watching her body slump and fall to the ground, her body twitching, a pool of red blooming like a beautiful flower of the macabre. “Oh fuck… What have you done??”

“Mommy?” The sound of a little girl calling from the other room, roots them to the spot. “Mommy?”

Q looks at the knife the same time that James does. “We don’t have time. C’mon!” He grabs at Q’s shirt, dragging him along to the front door.

They drive and drive for an entire day, not quite able to shake off the foreboding in their bones.

**(Day 49)**

James kisses Q’s cold lips, the warmth already gone. He sobs, an ugly sound, the dried blood on his cheek flaking as he brushes against him. The tears from James’ eyes make dirty rivers.

“I love you.” James whispers against his lips, “I love you and I’m coming for you. So wait for me okay? Don’t go in through those gates yet, just wait for me.”

He presses another kiss, and another one to his closed eyelids. He can hear the police sirens. They know he is here.

“Till death do us part, right baby?” He slips his hand through Q’s, putting the car into gear.

**(Day 34)**

Q wakes up like a cat, stretching until his joints cracked and popped. “Good morning, my husband.” James smiles, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close until his back was flush against his front. He sucks lazy kisses into the line of his shoulder. “How did you sleep?”

“Well, thank you my husband.” Q grins, nuzzling the day old stubble. “I’m hungry.” He whines. “Aren’t you supposed to be providing or something?”

“Well…” James chuckles tilting his head until he could kiss him and steal the breath from Q’s lungs.

Q laughs, pushing him away, pouting. “I don’t mean that kind of hungry. I mean this.” He rubs his stomach. “Someone was too eager to get into bed last night, that by the time we were done, all the diners were closed.” He narrows his eyes accusingly.

James has the sense to look contrite. “Sorry…”

Q sighs then, rubbing a thumb on his jaw, feeling the stubble there. “I’m not mad, babe. But you got to feed me soon.”

Strong arms turn his body around, until they were lying face to face. “One more day.” James says, running his hand through Q’s curly mane moving down until his hand touches the strand of gold. “One more day and then…”

“Everything.” Q finishes, smiling. He brings their entwined hands to his lips. “I can’t wait.” They lie there in the spot of sun coming in from dirt caked windows.

“The rest of our lives, then.” James says, closing his eyes.

Q breathes, still unable to believe that this was really his. Someone who will take of him, be there for him, never hurt him, _love_ him… “The rest of our lives together.” He says softly, moving until he is tucked into the warmth of James’ embrace.

The world can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God what have I done.


End file.
